


Caffeine, Small Talk, Wait Out the Plastic Weather

by JungleJelly



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Pre-Relationship, i know nothing about coffee shops, in fact i hate coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 16:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleJelly/pseuds/JungleJelly
Summary: Just another day at the Starboard coffee shop.





	Caffeine, Small Talk, Wait Out the Plastic Weather

**Author's Note:**

> It came to my attention that THIS was a thing:  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/150668679@N03/48637411166/in/dateposted-public/)  
...which is WRONG on so many levels i just had to rectify it.  
Disclaimer: i tried to both imitate and modernize each character’s voice (to wildly varying degrees, it turns out), which i imagine would already be difficult for a native English speaker. Since i am not one, i can only hope i didn’t completely screw it up. Apologies if i did.  
Either way, please enjoy this piece of utter nonsense.

The door was unlocked.

Laurence froze, his fingers still gripping the key to the shop and his heartbeat picking up speed.

Carefully, he let go of the key and stepped back. Burglars? Surely, Laurence could not be that unlucky. Not even his legendary talent for attracting trouble would excuse such a thing happening mere months after his retirement from adventuring, and besides, Jane would laugh herself to death. No, Laurence decided, there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation.

With this in mind, he took a silent breath to steady himself and softly pushed the door ajar.

Nothing.

He carefully stepped inside, holding his breath and his eyes darting everywhere for a hint of anything out of place. The shop, however, looked entirely normal, if slightly less tidy than it should have been this early in the morning. Almost as if whoever had closed up last night hadn’t bothered to finish cleaning up, but none of his employees would dare — they knew too well Laurence’s obsessive insistence on absolute cleanliness. In fact, wasn’t last night’s shift assigned to —

Laurence’s gaze snagged on something at last. Squinting in the darkness, he approached one of the tables further along the wall and crouched.

And stared.

And sighed. “Temeraire.”

The lump under the table mumbled sleepily, but remained otherwise unresponsive. Laurence called again, laying a hand on the booted foot poking out from underneath the table. “Temeraire, wake up.”

There was a snort, then silence. Then a low grumble, and Temeraire’s slanted eyes cracked open a fraction — and widened immediately upon seeing Laurence, silhouetted against the slowly dawning light outside.

Laurence had no time to react before the boy sprang up from the floor, and a tremendous crack announced the violent meeting between his skull and the underside of the table. Temeraire collapsed back onto the floor, moaning and clutching his head with both hands. Laurence sat back on his heels, the familiar mix of parental worry and exasperated disbelief making him lift his gaze skywards and pray for strength. “Temeraire,” he repeated. “What are you doing under the table?”

* * *

Laurence would not say he enjoyed mathematics, precisely, but there was something almost soothing about the daily task of doing accounts for the shop. The satisfaction of a job well done, for one, which he could hardly deny appealed to his meticulous nature; and, of course, seeing the evidence of his and Jane’s success in this venture, the numbers tallying up neatly to a perfectly respectable — he would not be more complimentary, even in his own head, for fear of tempting fate — amount. Yes, he thought, falling back into a sort of trance and watching the numbers align one by one into his open spreadsheet; the tediousness of the task did not make it any less gratifying and, dare he say, relaxing —

A boisterous laugh made him jump and interrupted his train of thought. He looked to the kitchen door, where a sulking Temeraire emerged, trailed down the length of the counter by a still-laughing Granby.

“I didn’t mean to,” Temeraire defended himself. “It’s just that the last customer left really late, and I’d been working my ass off for finals —”

“Language,” Laurence frowned.

“Sorry,” Temeraire hurried. Granby cackled harder. “Anyway, I just thought I’d close my eyes for a few seconds, but then I guess the floor was a lot warmer and more comfortable than I expected, and…” he finished, glaring daggers at the traitorous patch of tile in question.

“Oh, Temeraire,” Granby said, wiping at his eyes. “Never change.” His curiosity obviously assuaged, he turned on his heel and walked back to the kitchen, giggling under his breath.

Laurence looked back at Temeraire, raising an eyebrow. Well, he thought, inspecting the boy, it was hardly surprising that Granby had noticed his shoddy appearance, and still less so that he had pounced on the opportunity to tease him for it; it sometimes seemed as if the man’s sole purpose in life was to rile up as many of his friends and acquaintances in as short a time as humanly possible. And Temeraire did make it easy for him: mussed hair, wrinkled clothes, his apron put on backwards…

He was drawn out of his inspection by a cup being deposited in front of him. He looked down. A swirly concoction sat in a disposable cardboard cup, still steaming and emanating an enticingly fresh aroma. He squinted at the foam. Was this supposed to be a… star? Or perhaps a flower?

“What do you think, Dad?” Temeraire asked hopefully. “I was thinking about ways we could improve our customer experience, and I found this really helpful tutorial page about latte art, and I have so many ideas for foam designs! I’m sure people will love these. It’s so pretty, don’t you think?”

Laurence could only stare at the mostly-formless blob in his cup and nod mutely. He had a sinking suspicion that a significant amount of coffee-making supplies would have to be sacrificed to this endeavor, but encouraging initiative had always been a point of honor with him, and he was not about to disappoint Temeraire’s optimistic efforts for the mere threat of a few frothy mishaps.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Temeraire.”

He prayed he would not regret his words.

* * *

A few hours later, he had already flown straight past the point of regret and was now reaching a certain level of despair. He had drawn the line at the fourth cup Temeraire had brought him, but this had the unfortunate side effect of redirecting the concentrated flow of caffeine onto Temeraire himself. Despite having started the day dragging his feet due to his less-than-ideal wake-up call, he was now practically bouncing off the walls in an unstoppable coffee-fueled frenzy. Laurence was starting to fear that he’d scare the customers off and considering drastic measures (he hadn’t had to forcibly put the boy to bed since he was about six years old, but he was sure he could manage it again), when the bell chimed and the door opened. He would not have taken his eyes off his laptop screen, but for the fact that Temeraire suddenly interrupted his rambling tirade about the merits of rainbow sprinkles and drew an audible breath. Laurence looked up. Ah — naturally. He smiled privately and ducked his head again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Temeraire manfully flee behind the counter and try to discreetly harass his coworker into attending to the new customer. Predictably, this did not go over particularly well.

“Excuse me, but I don’t see why I should be the one to pick up your slack, only because you’re too scared to talk to girls,” he heard Iskierka’s voice ring out. “And besides, I don’t see what’s so special about her, either —” he did not have to turn around to picture her dark hair being flipped over her shoulder “— so you can stop behaving like a lovestruck four-year-old and actually do some work for once.”

Temeraire, who had previously been engaged in some aggressive shushing and flapping his hands in her face to no great effect, immediately switched gears and stretched up to his full height in front of her. “I am not _scared_,” he hissed, glancing furtively towards the back of the room to make sure the object of their argument was well out of earshot. “It’s just that, I don’t want to bother her…” He wrung his hands anxiously. “She probably came here to study, anyway, even though finals are over, but she’s so smart! The other day in our Sociology class —”

“Yes, yes, we’ve all heard a million times how perfect and amazing your precious little Mei is,” Iskierka said, rolling her eyes, not even pretending to make an attempt at lowering her voice. “But if you want my opinion —”

“No, thank you, no one wants your opinion, in fact, not a single sane person would _ever_ ask for your opinion on _anything_ —”

“— _if you want my opinion_,” she continued flippantly, raising her voice over his, “she’s probably one of those academic types who can’t be bothered to live outside of their stupid books, and prove just as boring as them once they actually open their mouths.” She cast a disdainful eye over Temeraire. “But I suppose I’ll have to step up to the task, again, since you seem determined to stand there gaping like a fish.” And with that, she turned around and strode away, leaving a spluttering Temeraire behind.

He stared after her as she approached the girl sitting alone at her usual table, took her order efficiently, and marched back to the counter. As she breezed past Temeraire, she sniffed and shoved her notepad into his chest. “There! Now, I assume you can muster enough brainpower to take it from here?” And with a flick of her ponytail, she was gone.

After a few seconds of silence, Laurence raised his head again to gauge the extent of the damage inflicted to Temeraire’s pride. Utter outrage was painted all over his face and his fingers were clenched over the paper pad in a very clear imitation of the way he would have liked to wring Iskierka’s neck if only there hadn’t been so many witnesses.

Ah, well, Laurence thought. Some healthy competition couldn’t hurt very much, could it? Probably not.

… hopefully not.

* * *

This had been going on for an hour and a half now.

Another woeful sigh from somewhere on his right punctuated this thought. He stared helplessly at his laptop screen, marveling at the truly impressive lack of work he had managed to achieve in the whole day so far, then frowned at his fingers poised over the keyboard, as if accusing them of the fact.

So what if his son was going through a… somewhat intense, prolonged lovestruck phase? That was no business of his. No parent worthy of the title, adopted of not, would consider intruding upon so private a circumstance.

His heart squeezed in sympathy as he watched Temeraire’s look of dejected resignation. He followed the boy’s line of sight. Astoundingly, the young lady in question did not seem to have noticed his sustained attention in the least, and was currently engrossed in an impressively thick volume, her deep blue hair spilling down in delicate waves to shield her eyes from view. Laurence looked back at Temeraire and tried to catch his eye. When he did, he inclined his head towards the chair facing him and waited as Temeraire shuffled despondently into the proffered seat.

“Temeraire, dear,” he began. “Perhaps you could…”

He racked his brain for a suitable idea. His concerned gaze took in Temeraire’s downcast eyes, swept past his pouting features, and snagged on his hands, currently fiddling with a ceramic cup. Yes, that could work.

He cleared his throat. “Temeraire, regarding your new project. The… latte art,” he forced himself to say, concealing his dubiousness at the term with some difficulty. “It’s an admirable idea, really, and I’m truly grateful that you are considering the well-being of our customers of your own initiative.” The boy’s eyes briefly flicked upwards, and his slouch lessened imperceptibly. “I’m afraid I can’t stomach anymore today, and frankly, neither should you, my dear; you know how you get once the caffeine rush wears off. However, perhaps we could… let you practice, and offer those free drinks to select customers?”

He waited and, after a few seconds, Temeraire’s eyes widened in understanding. He cast a furtive glance — well, furtive for Temeraire, which didn’t mean much — at Mei’s table.

“You mean…?”

Laurence smiled. “Yes, why not?”

Temeraire shifted in his seat, clearly tempted but needing some more reassurance before he would be fully committed to the scheme. Laurence, being fully aware of his fatherly duty in this instance and not in the least disinclined to indulge Temeraire’s occasional insecurity, made the necessary amendment.

“Temeraire,” he began firmly. “In the spirit of progress and perseverance, I would like you to keep practicing in this vein and present the results to a customer of your choice. Please consider this your new priority as an employee of this shop.”

At last, the battle was won: Laurence could see the resolve hardening behind Temeraire’s eyes, his spirits visibly lifting at the prospect of a new challenge, and congratulated himself on a job well done.

* * *

Half an hour later, Laurence had managed to add a few rows to his sheet and Temeraire’s plan of action was well underway.

Unfortunately, it did not appear to be meeting with very great results so far. (Although, Temeraire himself might have argued that polite disinterest was still, _technically_, one step up from a complete lack of awareness of one’s existence.)

Temeraire forged on, however, as Laurence had rather been hoping he would. This was, after all, a boy who had once led a 6-month-long campaign against his kindergarten teachers in order to obtain newer swing sets and a bigger jungle gym on the playground, and succeeded — and the less said about his early teenage years, the better.

But alas, regardless of Temeraire’s past achievements, the girl remained unmoved. Laurence watched her peer down at Temeraire’s latest offering, look back up at his hopeful face and make a quiet comment. Laurence could not make out her words from his spot, but they certainly made an impression on Temeraire, who seemed stricken. He held up his hands, stammered a hurried reply and, inexplicably, sprinted out the door.

Laurence hardly had time to begin frowning in mildly disapproving bafflement before a weight settled in the chair next to his, jarring him from his contemplation.

“Wonder what’s got his panties in a twist _this_ time, eh?” Granby grinned, sprawling sideways in the chair as was his wont with a sigh of satisfaction. He arranged his long limbs, of course, to take up as much space as possible, throwing one leg over the arm of the chair and kicking the other far underneath the table, one arm dangling from the worn backrest and one elbow perching on the edge of the table so he could rest his chin in his hand. Laurence bore the process stoically, well-used to this game and certainly not intending to betray the outrage his friend was doubtlessly trying to elicit — beyond a flat stare and the very slight lift of a judgemental eyebrow, that is.

Unperturbed, Granby continued. “Ah, well, if it keeps him and Iskierka out of each other’s way, at least…”

At this, Laurence realized with a start that the counter area was suspiciously silent, and likely had been so for the past while.

Granby followed his gaze and made a noise of acknowledgement. “Hmm, yeah, she’s in the back. Fiddling with the toaster, I think she said. Something about the heat distribution not being up to her standards, or whatever.” At Laurence’s alarmed glance, he hurried to add, “Don’t worry, though! I’m keeping an eye on her.” He shifted. “...from afar.”

Laurence sighed. “John —”

“All right, all right, keep your pants on, I’ll go check on her in a minute.” He threw himself dramatically into the cushioned backrest, groaning. “Honestly, it’s a little insulting that you don’t even trust us to behave without supervision for more than ten minutes. And the girl’s been my apprentice in the kitchen for over a month, already! Really, what have we done to deserve such blatant distrust?”

“May I remind you of the incident last week —”

“Yeah, okay, all right, no need to rehash that again,” Granby interrupted sulkily, like the grown man he was. “Just one tiny explosion and we’re all up in arms about proper supervision and safety violations and I don’t know what else…”

“I do have to protect my investors’ interests, not to mention my own, as you very well know.”

“Psh,” he scoffed. “We both know Roland wouldn’t even think to blame you for any of this stuff, so don’t try that one on me. She’d know exactly who’s to blame, and who needs to get an earful about following orders, even if she didn’t think the sun shines out of your ass.”

Laurence frowned. “Really, John. A little decency, if you please.” Truly, the man had no manners. Besides which, he was entirely wrong about Jane, who most certainly did not think the sun… did that, in any way, shape, or form, as evidenced by their current, decidedly non-romantic relationship. That ship had sailed a long, long time ago, though they had remained fast friends and were now business partners to boot. Practically family, really. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, _Dad_, I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar when I get home,” Granby muttered.

This somewhat unconvincing apology was interrupted by the jingle of the bell, as Temeraire rushed back inside, clutching some sort of carton in his hand, and practically leapt over the counter in his haste.

Granby squinted after Temeraire. “Is that… almond milk?”

That would make sense, Laurence admitted to himself. An oversight on his own part, in fact, he thought, and resolved to start stocking a wider variety of dairy substitutes as soon as possible.

“Keh. So we’re doing custom orders, now? What, soy not good enough for him? That kid of yours, Laurence, I swear.”

“Temeraire has… a lot of personality,” Laurence conceded.

“I’ll say. But anyway! Crazy teenagers aside, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” At this, Granby got that glint in his eye that spelled trouble for Laurence. He geared himself mentally to tread very, very carefully.

“Oh? I was not aware you had come to sit here for any particular purpose. Aside from the obvious, that is.”

“The obvious?”

Laurence very carefully did not roll his eyes. “Alleviating your apparent boredom by inviting yourself over at the expense of my work, evidently.”

“Oh, come off it, Will, you’ve been here for hours; you know as well as I do that this is the slowest day we’ve had all week. Therefore, it is your sacred duty, as a friend, to support me in these difficult times and entertain me.” Laurence felt his eyebrow twitch and had a remark half-out of his mouth about how perhaps Granby would like to deduct these periods of intense _ennui_ from his paychecks in the future, when he was interrupted again. “_Anyway_, as I was saying! I won’t let you distract me with these false accusations, you know…”

The glint was back, Laurence observed mournfully, as Granby shimmied closer and rested his chin in his open hands once more.

“_Sooooo…_ since we’re apparently in full meddling mode today… when are you gonna take your own advice and, you know, make a move?”

Laurence froze. Granby, mercilessly, cackled at his dismay and went on. “Not that I don’t enjoy watching the endless circling around each other, of course, but after this business with Temeraire… Never took you for a hypocrite, that’s all I’m saying,” he finished innocently, his lips curling into an unbearably self-satisfied smirk.

Laurence turned a frosty glare on him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Granby’s grin only widened. “Oh, really? Because I could have sworn I saw you gazing longingly after him and getting absolutely nothing done the last time he was here,” he accused. “I know you too well, Will, you can’t lie to me. You want a piece of that. Can’t blame you, honestly, he _is_ stupidly hot… Wouldn’t mind climbing that like a tree, myself, if you know what I mean.”

He turned his head to waggle his eyebrows at Laurence and took in his expression. He burst out laughing. “Oh, Laurence! I wish you could see your own face right now. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna steal your man. I don’t think mine would like that very much. Besides, the guy is so obviously gone on you, it’s practically criminal how long it’s taking you to do anything about it. Just put him out of his misery already.”

And that was about how much Laurence could take. “Yes, all right, John, thank you very much for your undoubtedly wise advice, but now I must beg you to stop taking an interest in my interpersonal relations —”

“‘Interpersonal relations’, he says. It’s called a _love life_, Laurence, look it up, and then walk up to the guy, gaze soulfully into his beautiful brown eyes, and say ‘Love of my life, light of my day, my dearest, darling Tenzi—’”

“_YES_, thank you, that will be quite enough of that,” Laurence almost shouted, face burning, looking around frantically to make sure Granby’s indiscretions hadn’t been overheard. He turned back, struggling to get his heart rate back under control and glaring daggers at his friend. “I swear, John, if you know what’s good for you —”

But Granby was already half-out of his chair, laughing unconcernedly. “Aye, aye, Captain, I get the message; scurrying off now to let you lick your wounds. God, you’re so cute when you’re flustered. Bet he’d agree with me,” he winked, a last parting shot, before finally retreating to the kitchen.

Laurence dropped his head in his hands and sighed.

* * *

“— and why are you still here, anyway? Your shift ended an hour and a half ago, I checked. Emily was supposed to relieve you, it says so right there on the schedule.”

“Oh no, don’t drag me into this,” Emily said firmly, squeezing past the bickering pair to grab a croissant in the display and adding it to the pile of items expertly balanced on her tray. She slipped back the other way with no further comment. Observing the interaction absently from his vantage point nearby, Laurence was forced to admit, once again, that the girl was truly the only person of sense on his entire payroll.

“I don’t see what business it is of yours, if I decide to stay,” Temeraire huffed.

“It is my business, because you’re taking up space, and not doing any useful work at all, and generally being a nuisance to us _working_ employees,” Iskierka replied, sticking her nose up in the air.

“I am not!” he exclaimed, affronted. “I’m barely taking any space at all, you’re just saying that because you always insinuate yourself everywhere, even when you’re not wanted! Just leave me alone, and go back to whatever it was you were doing to that poor toaster in the kitchen,” he scowled.

That was going a little far, Laurence thought with a frown. However, before he could berate Temeraire for his cruelty, Iskierka had already drawn herself up and was retaliating shrilly.

“Oh! Well, if that’s how you’re going to be, then don’t count on me the next time you need help with your _stupid_ girlfriend!”

She stormed off, leaving a palpable trail of fury in her wake. A precariously-stacked tower of cardboard cups wobbled, teetered on the edge of a counter, and fell to the floor with a clatter. Temeraire blew out an irritated breath and bent to pick up the mess. Loud banging noises started to emerge from the kitchen again, signaling that Iskierka had resumed her previous activities with renewed vigor. Laurence prayed that Granby was supervising nearby, or at least pretending to, so that his apprentice conducting dangerous experiments with kitchen equipment would at least not cost them a limb, or, God forbid, burn the whole place to the ground.

Temeraire, meanwhile, had turned back to the assortment of machines behind the counter and was fiddling with the buttons again. He seemed to be encountering some difficulty with his newly-acquired almond milk, as the results of his initial experimentation had been summarily poured down the drain ten minutes ago. This had prompted a fierce glower in the direction of the steamer, shortly followed by a frantic bout of tapping and scrolling on his phone.

Now, he appeared to have finally achieved the desired result: he gingerly tilted a cup this way and that, pouring the milk inside at seemingly random angles and intervals (Laurence felt his heart melt a little at the adorably focused expression on his face, tongue poking out), until, with a triumphant grin, he set down the finished concoction and put away his tools carefully. After throwing a nervous glance over the counter, he took a few seconds to straighten his apron and (futilely) attempt to pat down the black tufts of hair sticking up from his head. Then, visibly steeling himself, he strode forwards, cup and saucer cradled gingerly in his hands. He spared no glance for Laurence when he passed his table, so entirely focused was he on his target, but Laurence had a fraction of a second to observe that the frothy surface of the liquid could, surprisingly, pass for something looking very nearly like a swan, if a slightly blurry one. Pride swelled in his chest and a fresh burst of fondness for the strange, wonderful creature that was Temeraire warmed his heart.

The boy himself, perfectly unaware of any embarrassing paternal feelings he might be evoking at the moment, reached his destination having managed not to spill a single drop from the cup. He deposited it gently in front of the girl.

Mei had been, predictably, deep in her reading, taking occasional notes in elegant script on a paper pad. Roused from her study by the clinking of the saucer, she blinked owlishly at Temeraire before noticing his offering and shuffling her papers to the side. Hesitantly, Temeraire sat on the edge of the chair opposite hers. He pushed the drink towards her.

“What do you think?” he asked hopefully. “I made it with almond milk, just like you suggested. It took a few tries, but I think I’ve got the hang of it now. And, um,” he babbled, “I did take the liberty to add some honey, I hope you don’t mind… and if you like it, we can put it on our regular menu! I’ll call it ‘the Divine Whip’.”

Mei, to her credit, seemed unfazed by Temeraire’s lengthy explanation and simply waited for him to finish before she brought the cup to her lips. She took a small sip and smiled.

Temeraire lit up like a thousand fireworks had just gone off inside him.

He leaned closer with a shy grin and was just opening his mouth to speak when a piercing sound made him jump a foot in the air. Laurence, along with everybody else in the shop, whipped his head around.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, _no_.

A small cloud of grey smoke was emanating from the kitchen door, where Emily was now rushing, holding a towel over her nose. The insistent beeping of the fire alarm kept going, overly loud in Laurence’s ears. He surged to his feet, intending to follow her, when a truly impressive string of expletives made him turn his head back the other way. He was fairly sure he had heard some Chinese mixed in there with the English, as well as a few other words peppered in… maybe Turkish? And those curses at the end had definitely been French.

His surprised gaze slid past Temeraire and landed on Mei, who, like everyone else in the shop, appeared shocked. However, unlike everyone else, she was not staring towards the worrying scene behind the counter, but rather, at Temeraire. Her startled expression seemed more impressed than alarmed, and she was eyeing the boy with a glint of interest that had most definitely not been there a moment ago.

He didn’t have much more time to ponder this before Temeraire was sprinting past him and through the still-smoking door, disappearing from view.

Just as Laurence was shaking himself and striding towards the opening, Emily emerged again, huffing and flapping her towel in the air to dispel the smoke. “It’s all right, sir! Iskierka set fire to the toaster, but it’s under control now. You don’t need to come in here!”

As if to punctuate her statement, the strident beeping finally stopped, dying in a high-pitched garble. Emily threw a look back inside the room. “It’s going to take a while to air out the kitchen, though.” She wrinkled her nose.

As much as Laurence would have doubted any of his other employees, he knew Emily was as good as her word. He nodded at her, turned around and attempted to do some damage control with the frightened customers. No sense in crowding the disaster zone any more than necessary, now that the crisis was past.

Before long, the agitation had died down and the windows had been thrown open to help clear out the last of the smoke. Laurence sat back down and exhaled. He looked up when his name was called.

A slightly singed Granby was leaning out of the doorframe to the kitchen, wearing a stormy expression and pointing a defiant finger towards him. “_Don’t. Say it_.” And he vanished back inside.

Laurence leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, wondering what he had done to deserve this.

* * *

After the shouting had died down (“It’s not like I _meant_ to set it on fire, what do you take me for!” “Well, you never _mean_ for any of these things to happen, but since you’re a walking catastrophe, things just break and explode and burst into flames wherever you go!” “They do not!” “Yes, they do!” “Do _not_!” “Do too!”, and so on), quiet had finally been restored to the shop, and Laurence was enjoying a relaxing cup of tea (no sugar, a dash of milk — regular cow milk for him, thank you very much). He was also enjoying, to his secret delight, the murmured conversation occurring two tables over between Mei and Temeraire.

The girl had indeed taken a much more pronounced interest in Temeraire after he returned from the kitchen incident, welcoming him back at her table with a smile and a graceful gesture towards the other seat. “Thank you for the drink, before,” she had gently intoned. “I like it a lot. What did you say was in it, again?” Temeraire had blushed and swiftly sat down, barely believing this stroke of good fortune but embracing it eagerly.

This was almost an hour ago, and they had been talking ever since, books and notes long forgotten and absentmindedly pushed to the side of the little table. Their heads were bent together in an animated, if hushed, conversation. From the brief snatches Laurence had managed to intercept somewhat guiltily, the topic must have started with languages (“...French, yes! And I’m also learning some Quechua right now, Granby’s aunt has been teaching me…” “Quechua, really? That’s so exotic!”) and progressively devolved into poetry, which, knowing Temeraire, he really should’ve guessed.

Laurence let himself become absorbed, perhaps, a little too much in observing the emotional fulfillment of his charge, as he completely missed the door opening, prompting a jingle from the bell and letting in a gust of wind from outside. His nose twitched at the vaguely familiar, pleasant scent being carried his way; a different fragrance of coffee and spice than the one that was the norm inside the shop, accompanied by a warm leathery undertone —

“Well, there is a peculiar sight. William Laurence, neglecting his duties and staring off into space? Surely, the world must be ending.”

Laurence drew himself up abruptly as, for the second time that day, someone sat down next to him unasked — although, in contrast to Granby’s earlier graceless slump, this newcomer perched in the chair so lightly and soundlessly Laurence might not have noticed him at all if he had not deigned to address him at the same time.

“Tenzing,” he acknowledged, turning to meet the man’s eyes. He felt his lips turn up into a smile despite Tharkay’s teasing remark.

Tharkay settled himself more comfortably in his chair, draping an elegant arm across the back. He directed a questioning look at Laurence, the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Daydreaming on the job, Laurence? How unlike you.”

“Ah… Yes, I’m afraid you caught me. My apologies,” Laurence replied. He couldn’t help casting a quick look towards Temeraire, betraying his earlier interest. “You’re right, of course. I _have _been unaccountably distracted.”

Tharkay followed his gaze and, with his usual quickness, grasped the situation immediately. “I see.” His lips twitched. “I’ll admit, I was rather rooting for Iskierka, myself, but alas. The heart wants what the heart wants, or so I hear. She’ll get over it.”

Surprised, Laurence looked at him for a moment; the man’s uncanny powers of observation were forever leaving him speechless. Which was perfectly absurd, since he insisted on demonstrating them with consistent, and sometimes alarming, regularity.

“Well,” he replied. “She and Temeraire have been pulling at each other’s pigtails since they met in the first grade; so I wouldn’t give up hope just yet.” He felt mildly mortified at the idea of speculating on Temeraire’s hypothetical relationship status with a third party; but then, he reasoned, Tharkay was hardly a stranger.

Tharkay hummed, his eyes wandering away from Laurence and towards the rest of the shop in a deceptively casual gaze. Despite himself, Laurence took the opportunity to stare. It had been a week since Tharkay’s last visit, after all; certainly he was allowed the chance to make sure his friend looked well since he’d last had the pleasure of his company. He let himself take in the familiar features, the wry tilt of his lips, the intelligent gaze in those dark eyes, the spark of humor few would know where to find in his normally guarded composure. A few strands of dark hair had escaped their tie and were brushing his shoulders, smooth and solid under a well-worn leather jacket. The ease in his posture betrayed a comfort that Laurence couldn’t help but cherish, knowing how rarely this honor was bestowed by the man sitting in front of him.

Movement caught his attention at the corner of his eye, and he snapped his gaze back, over Tharkay’s shoulder, to where Granby was waving at him in what he probably thought was a discreet manner. Laurence frowned, but Granby’s grin only widened, although he did stop his wild gesticulating. His relief was short-lived, however, as the man immediately brandished two thumbs-up and started silently mouthing something that Laurence very determinedly refused to decipher, lest his embarrassment become even more apparent to anyone watching or, God forbid, Tharkay himself. Fighting the urge to scowl, Laurence ripped his eyes away from his irritating employee, and they landed on Tharkay’s face again. For all that Granby was deeply misguided in his conclusions, Laurence had to admit he was certainly not wrong in some regards; Tharkay’s eyes were, without question, exceptionally beautiful — and there he caught himself, cursing inwardly. Damn Granby and his meddling! This would not do.

He shook himself. “Will you be requiring help unloading today’s delivery?”

Tharkay’s focus sharpened back onto him. “It’s no more than the usual, but I won’t say no to an extra pair of arms.” With that, he unfolded himself from his chair and, checking that Laurence was following, sauntered out into the street and towards the waiting van.

* * *

They made quick work of unloading the supplies into the storeroom, and, once Laurence was done shelving and storing the fresh coffee beans, loose tea leaves and whatever other assorted delights Tharkay had selected for him this week, they turned back towards the main room, only to be intercepted by Temeraire.

“Tharkay! It’s very nice to see you,” he greeted enthusiastically.

“Likewise,” came the reply. “And how have you been, Temeraire?”

“Oh, very well! I mean, no, not really, there were a lot of exams, and… But that’s all done, now, so I’m free to help out again around here!” he rambled. Laurence’s eyes narrowed. The boy was up to something; he could tell from his nervous chatter and fidgety limbs. He waited.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tharkay replied, somewhat perplexed. He stepped to the side to move past Temeraire, but the boy shuffled sideways, barring his escape. Tharkay’s eyebrow rose, but he stopped, staring mutely at him in question. Temeraire grimaced, twisting his hands in discomfort.

“I, um… I have a request, Mr Tharkay,” he began. Tharkay’s eyebrow climbed higher; it had been a long time since Temeraire had felt the need to prefix his name with any sort of title. “You’re… You’re from Nepal, aren’t you? You speak Nepali?”

Tharkay looked nonplussed. “...Yes? On my mother’s side. What does that —?”

“Can you teach me?” Temeraire blurted out in a rush.

After a beat, Tharkay seemed to recover from the unusual request. “Certainly, Temeraire, if you’d like.” He opened his mouth again, no doubt to ask for clarification, but Temeraire beat him to it.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” He bounced in place, a relieved grin stretching almost to his ears. He clapped his hands excitedly. “I can’t wait to start!” And without waiting for an answer, he whirled around and flew back to wherever he’d come from in the first place. Given the favor he had just requested, Laurence could hazard a guess.

They both stared after Temeraire in incredulous contemplation for a moment, then Tharkay broke the silence.

“You know, Laurence, I like to think that it takes quite a lot to surprise me; but you and your son certainly enjoy making me question the notion periodically.”

Laurence sent him a rueful smile. “Well, it wouldn’t do to be too predictable.” Tharkay laughed.

“I don’t believe there is any risk of that.”

Once they exited the pantry, Laurence had the unhappy surprise of seeing Granby leaning on the counter, waiting for them with an innocent smile and a dangerous air of affected nonchalance. “Oh, you’re done already? You could have taken your time, I’m sure no one would have minded.” While he said this, he casually stuck his hand in his apron pocket — but not before Laurence caught a flash of metal between his fingers. A key?

...Oh, Lord. The man was demented. He wouldn’t truly have… Would he? Laurence chanced a look at Tharkay. If he had noticed Granby’s little sleight of hand, he didn’t show it. Instead, he greeted him as if nothing was amiss and struck up a conversation. Laurence took this moment to thank his lucky stars that Temeraire had barged in on them when he had, or he had a sneaking suspicion that he and Tharkay may have found themselves mysteriously locked inside the storeroom. He would have to have words with Granby. And, speaking of the devil…

“So, Tharkay…” he grinned mischievously. “Any plans for tonight? Hot date, perhaps?”

“Are you offering?” Tharkay drawled.

Granby’s grin took on a decidedly wicked edge. “Hmmm, there’s a thought… Maybe?” He winked. “I’d take you to all the fancy places.”

“A tall order,” came the sardonic reply. “One might take you at your word, John, and then where would you be? You shouldn’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“Oh, honey, I _never_ make a promise I can’t keep. You can trust me…” He leaned forwards and lowered his eyelashes, rakish grin firmly in place. “You _know _I’d show you a good time.”

Laurence was going to spontaneously combust. “If you two are quite finished,” he managed, throat slightly strangled, steadfastly ignoring the flush he could feel spreading up to his hairline.

Tharkay, bless him, took mercy on him — for a given definition of ‘mercy,’ anyway. “Yes, John, let’s leave the poor man alone; he looks entirely likely to faint.” Granby snickered, but relented. “Any more of your outrageous offers, and I fear your esteemed leader may desert this mortal coil and leave you to manage this fine establishment in his stead.”

That, at least, seemed to stop Granby in his tracks; he stared at Tharkay, horrified. “Don’t even joke about that,” he begged. “It’s hard enough herding these crazy teens in the kitchen, I refuse to even _consider_ doing all the bullshit paperwork that comes along with it.” He shuddered. “No thanks.”

“Your touching concern for my person is noted,” Laurence said dryly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, we still have a job to perform, and I’m sure Tenzing has better things to do.”

As he laid a hand on Tharkay’s arm and steered him towards the exit, he could have sworn he heard Granby mutter ‘_Wouldn’t be so sure about that_’.

* * *

“I apologize for John,” Laurence expressed, once they were outside. “He can be quite…” he hesitated. “...inappropriate.”

Tharkay shook his head minutely. “I don’t mind.” He gave a small smile, his lips tugging to one side quite charmingly. Laurence caught himself staring and hurriedly looked away. “He’s all talk, anyway, no matter what he says. I wouldn’t expect him to deliver on any of his promises.” He caught Laurence’s eyes. “Not that I would want him to, of course.”

His gaze held a question; the same patient, unspoken request that Laurence had seen in his eyes time and time again, and did not know how to answer. He offered a smile, but it felt brittle. Tharkay studied him a moment longer, then sighed inaudibly.

“Until next time, then, Laurence.” He turned away.

As he did every time, Laurence felt his heart give a painful lurch at the sight. He was powerless — conscious of some kind of failing on his part, but entirely, frustratingly ignorant of how he could rectify it.

“Tenzing,” he said, helplessly. Tharkay stopped, but didn’t turn. There was a resigned slump to his shoulders that Laurence suddenly found abhorrent; a personal affront, though he did not know precisely why. He frowned.

Unbidden, visions of foamy swans, flowers and stars swam into his mind’s eye. Offerings, he thought with sudden clarity; an opening, a signal for another to grasp and, hopefully, answer. He thought of Temeraire, his brave boy, persevering through his self-imposed trials; his disappointment in the face of failure; his joy when, at last, his efforts were rewarded. He thought of Granby, flirting shamelessly, forever needling him, but not for his own profit; for Laurence’s. He steeled himself, lacing his hands in front of him and looking straight ahead at Tharkay.

“Tenzing,” he repeated. “Do you know any… fancy places?”

A beat. Then, Tharkay turned. His gaze was guarded. “Why, do you need recommendations?”

“Well. No, not personally. Only, I have it on good authority that those are the kinds of places where one might take a…” he grimaced and soldiered on, “...‘_hot date_’.”

Tharkay’s eyes went round, then, his gaze astonished, and his mouth opened. “A… a hot…” His lips twitched, and he started to smile.

Laurence looked on, a wave of relief almost, but not quite, managing to offset the deep flood of mortification he felt after his uncharacteristic pronouncement. “Tenzing, I beg of you,” he said plaintively. “Some help.”

Tharkay’s smile widened irrepressibly until it took over his entire face, radiating mirth, and it was all Laurence could do not to be bowled over by the brilliance. “Yes,” he said, at last. “I know just the place.”

**Author's Note:**

> Which place, you ask? Ahahahaha yeah, no, idfk. Tharkay didn’t deign to inform me.  
Giving credit where credit is due: coffee shop name by the undisputed pun queen, [Stilienski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/pseuds/Stilienski), and title from Coin’s [I Talk Too Much](https://youtu.be/KWxM_zLJGsU).  
On the topic of Iskierka setting fire to things and generally being a little shit: a thousand thank-yous to my dear friend [xlogophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlogophile/pseuds/xlogophile) for making me aware of the fact that ‘iskierka’ basically means ‘sparky’ ([source 1](https://youtu.be/4UTLweVm6s4) / [source 2](https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=2185)), which i can’t stop laughing over.  
All feedback welcome! Drop me a line if it tickles your fancy :D


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